


The Duality of Man

by elsadarmody



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M, Past Character Death, Slice of Life, mentions of guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsadarmody/pseuds/elsadarmody
Summary: It's the eve of his court date and Al's got a lot on his mind.





	The Duality of Man

It was late in the day when he entered the small shop. Just his luck these days, his regular barber falling ill on the eve of his trial. But word had it that Frankie was the best around. He’d never settled for anything less before and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

The place was dark, save for a dim desk lamp toward the back.

“We’re closed,” the clerk barked, not bothering to look up.

Al glanced in her direction, but all he could see above the desk were the golden spindles flowing over her shoulders.

“You know who this is?” his brother asked harshly, the question usually answering itself.

At she peered up, arching her left brow as she cocked her to the side, piercing gray eyes looking straight at him.

“Don’t care,” she said bluntly. “Closed means closed. You can see yourselves out.”

“Now you listen here, sweetheart- this man needs a haircut and a shave and we ain’t leavin’ til he gets it. Where’s Frankie?”

“You’re talkin to her.”

Now Al was really enjoying this little interchange. He wasn’t sure what more arousing, her outright moxie or that she was beautiful to boot. But when he saw the flabbergasted look on Ralph’s face he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“ _Francine_?” Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She returned to her figures without another thought, however Al was in no mood to comply. Ralph’s nostrils were still flared at being made the fool, but he didn’t feel like dealing with that either.

“It’s alright, pal. Why don’t you wait in the car,” he instructed. A quick pat on the shoulder to soothe his ruffled feathers and he heard the bells on the door handle jingle as Ralph shut it behind him.

Al took off his fedora and held it in front of himself.

“My brother’s got a short fuse,” he grinned widely. “Runs in the family.”

“And humility, apparently, does not,” she replied flatly.

Al continued to smirk. “Doesn’t what now?”

“Run in your…oh, forget it,” she sighed.

“So’s this your place, huh?”

“Used to be my husband’s,” she glared and while Al still couldn’t see anything from her shoulders up, he heard the faint tap of her desk drawer closing. “Until your men killed him,” she hissed pointing a 22 in his direction.

Frankie gulped, her hands visibly shaking. “Ricocheted from one of your shoot outs in the street while he was walking home.”

“He was a good man,” she stammered. “Never bothered anyone.”

He stopped smiling. Usually so sure of himself, he found he was at a loss for words.

Not that he was afraid of her. He’d been in worse predicaments. Come up against many a man- hardened criminals like himself- and thought nothing about it.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her weapon - from that distance, with her shaking like a leaf- would either miss him completely or leave a mere flesh wound; a drop in the bucket.

He did _have_ a heart, though, face softening in reflection as he recalled his own losses through the years. Some blown to pieces before his eyes while others he’d only heard about in hushed circles after the fact. But gone was gone and the hurt was the same.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blow your brains out,” she sneered, stepping forward from the desk.

“I’ll give you two,” he tilted his head at the doorway in the back corner, “they’re standing right behind ya.”

Frankie spun on her heels, hastily tucking the gun into the front pocket of her apron.

“Girls!” She scolded two tiny versions of herself. “Back upstairs this instant! Grandma should have dinner ready soon.”

The twins readily complied, their matching braided pigtails swaying as they scrambled up back up the steps. Frankie shut the door behind them, careful to lock it this time before turning three quarters to face him again, eyes welling up in a mix of rage and shame.

“I don’t think they saw anything,” Al said, feeling guilty now for not only leaving her a widow but also embarrassing her in front of her children.

“What do you care?”

“Got a boy at home myself.” He cleared his throat, hating himself for the onslaught of pain that was about to rain down on his own family come tomorrow. “I done a lot of things. Some not so good. Prolly not gonna see him again for a while.”

“A while?” she shrugged. “That’s still better than my Jack.”

“Sorry about that. I had another brother- same name as you. Died a few years ago.”

She drew a deep breath. “What is it that you want, Mr. Capone?”

A haircut. A clean shave. Her bent over the top of the desk.

“You got quite the reputation,” he began- that eyebrow of hers stopping him again. “Calm down, doll. I meant it as a compliment. Running a successful business…with things being the way that they are? Times is tough.”

“Compliment or not, you still haven’t answered my question.”

She looked tired, on her feet all hours of the day. Her lips pursed as she crossed her arms across herself.

“Court date in the morning. Got my own reputation to uphold. Now how’s about that haircut? Getcha back upstairs to those girls in time for supper.”

“And then you’ll leave?”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

She was as good as they’d said, he thought whilst admiring himself in the bathroom mirror later that evening.

The following afternoon Frankie was sweeping the shop when she heard the familiar jingle of the door. She looked up, astonished to see Ralph Capone standing in its frame, a brown leather briefcase in his hand.

“Back so soon?” she asked, tone sharp as the razor she’d just finished cleaning.

He placed the briefcase on the floor, nodding down at it.

“From my brother.”

“I–”

Before she could reject it, he turned and was gone.

An envelope with her name was attached to the handle. She tore it open, surprised at the neatness of his penmanship.

“For your family.”

She drew a deep breath, guessing as to the amount of its contents; how much blood was shed for it. Like her dear Jack’s.

It wouldn’t bring him back- nothing could replace him. But it would make things a little easier.

And not just for her. Now she could help her sister with rent money. And the neighbors wouldn’t have to go to the soup kitchen anymore. She would put the girls in a good school. Send some home to her folks in Cleveland.

She swallowed hard, taking up to the apartment and tucking it carefully into the false floorboard under her bed.

Frankie was washing the dinner dishes later that evening when a news alert came through the wire, subconsciously turning up the radio dial at the mention of Public Enemy Number One.

“Got what he deserved,” her mother-in-law griped bitterly.

“Who are we to judge?” Usually able to hold her tongue out of respect for the other woman, Frankie couldn’t help herself.

“Girls!” she called into the parlor where they were playing in an effort to quickly change the subject, “Five more minutes and then it’s time to wash up for bed!”

“I’ll get them started.”

“Thank you, Doris,” Frankie sighed, grateful that she took the exit cue.

Finished drying the utensils, she put her rag aside and sank into one of the kitchen chairs, pulling a locket from underneath her blouse. She opened it gingerly, eyes dewy as she traced over a miniature of her late husband.

“Sorry, my love,” she whispered. “But we’re only human after all.”


End file.
